


freds last day

by kristyn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, dead george, hogwarts ghost!fred, sentimental shit will occur, supa old neville
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 09:29:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristyn/pseuds/kristyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the 72nd anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, and George Weasley is dying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	freds last day

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this in response to [a tumblr post](http://mettatontrash.tumblr.com/post/75664267368/rairii-proserpine-in-phases-sextingtate/), decided to put it here too  
> enjoy~

Fred Weasley spent his last day on earth floating through another charms lecture, to the amusement of the students and squeaky anger of the much-aged Professor Flitwick. He laughed and headed to the empty History of Magic classroom, intending to drop the blackboard erasers out the window.

And so his afterlife had gone for the past seventy-two years. Throwing things at nasty students, flirting with particularly pretty seventh-year girls, and a few boys if he felt like it. Teasing Slytherin first-years, dramatically recalling his equally dramatic departure from the school during the Year of Umbridge, and of course, his favorite story: his own death.

He had attended far too many of Nearly Headless Nick’s deathday parties and whooped loudly for every Gryffindor first year that bounded over to the table after the Sorting Ceremony each year.

He helped particularly adventurous students find secret passageways and shortcuts and he especially enjoyed augmenting History of Magic lessons with recounts of his own exploits with the famous Harry Potter and his own equally famous little brother.

It was a pleasant afterlife, one that paralleled his first life in every way.

Well, almost every way.

Presently, he floated past a window, and decided he’d pay the Herbology professor a small visit.

He soared out the window, seeing the rays of sunlight shine through his translucent body and fall on the grass below in a dappled shadow. He couldn’t feel its warmth. He could barely remember what warmth and cold felt like. He had long ago grown used to the sensation of nothingness.

He was somewhat disappointed to see no classes were currently in session for him to mess with. There was, however, a figure in greenhouse one, busying himself with a large stack of pots.

Fred sailed through the wall. “Hey, Longbottom.”

The old man jumped in shock, dropping a pot with a loud crack.

“Fred!” he wheezed. “Stop doing that! You’ll send me to an early grave!”

“Don’t even talk about early graves,” he retorted casually, letting himself float around the room.

“Speaking of graves, you do know what today is, correct?”

“Uh, some day in April? You stop counting when you don’t have to anymore. I’m sure you’ll understand when you die, any minute now.”

“It’s the second of May, Fred.”

“Close enough.”

“You preach about the Battle of Hogwarts to any student with ears, yet you don’t remember its date?”

“Dates aren’t that important,” he mumbled unconvincingly.

“I have a question for you, Fred.”

He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it. Despite this, he nodded. “Fire away.”

“Why are you still here?”

Fred stopped floating, instead letting himself fall gently into a sitting position on the lab table furthest away from Neville.

He considered several teasing and some nasty retorts before sighing and settling on, “I don’t know.”

“It’s been 72 years since your death. Don’t you think you ought to have passed on by now?”

“Plenty of ghosts have been around here for much longer than that, Neville.”

Neville looked away for a moment. He produced his wand and set about picking up and repairing the fallen pot.

“Was there anything in your life that was incomplete? Was there anything missing when you died?”

Fred shook his head, giving a little smile. “It’s been a long time since I thought about my life before my death.”

Neville smiled back. “You tell all those stories.”

“They’re just stories. I can barely believe they happened half the time.”

“Well, I’ll let you know I’ll never forget the fireworks during my OWLS.”

Fred chuckled.

Silence.

“You know,” Neville continued, “I’ve been thinking on this for a few days now. About your afterlife. And what you left behind. I realized what it was. It should have been obvious.”

Fred raised an eyebrow. “And what is it I left behind?”

“George.”

More silence.

 “So you’re saying I’ve been waiting here for George to die.” It hurts. It hurts to say his name.

“I believe so. Actually, Fred, just now I lied to you. I’ve had this thought for a number of decades.”

Fred’s brow furrowed. “Then why are you telling me this now?”

“George is dying.”

Fred’s stomach lurched.

“Hermione sent an owl yesterday. It isn’t looking good. He’s at St. Mungo’s. He’s got Muggle medicine and magic in him, but the doctors predict he’ll be gone by tonight.”

Realization dawned on Fred. “And… that means I’ll get to see him again.”

“Yes. And you may be able to pass on.”

“I can’t believe you never told me this, Longbottom!” Fred tried to sound angry, but he couldn’t fight the smile that found its way to his face.

“I didn’t want to raise false hope.”

Fred set his feet on the cold linoleum and stood on his ghostly legs for the first time in probably years. He never walked if he could help it. Despite their lack of use, they brought him to his old friend in less than three long strides, and soon enough he was embracing Neville for all he was worth. It took effort, of course, to prevent the old man from falling right through his body, and Fred suspected Neville realized this.

He pulled away before this could happen. “Thank you, Neville. Thank you for everything. Thanks for putting up with my stupid pranks and being the oldest damn teacher here besides ol’ Flitwick and Minerva.”

“Always a pleasure, Fred.”

With one last crooked smile, Fred soared through the ceiling and sped through the air to Gryffindor tower.

His spent the next several hours telling stories about George. He realized it had been over a decade since he last told of all his adventures with his twin brother. This was a fresh batch of kids who knew nothing of the Great George Weasley. He told of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes; with all its Puking Pastilles, Extendable Ears and love potions; he told of all the run-ins and escapes from Mr. Filch, and, of course, he couldn’t forget the story of the Marauder’s Map. The young Gryffindors listened in rapture, their homework forgotten as Fred talked and talked until the fire grew dim.

“I mean, ‘holey’. He really said ‘holey’! Out of all the ear-based humor he could have chosen, and he went with ‘holey’. Unbelievable.”

Timothy, head boy and great-grandson of Ron and Hermione, cleared his throat. “Yes, we’ve all loved hearing Uncle Freddie’s little stories, but it’s about time he retired for the night, no?”

The students groaned. Fred groaned the loudest.

“Timmy, pal, have I ever told you that you sound exactly like my brother Percy?”

“At least once a day. I’ve started taking it as a compliment. Now let your fellow Gryffindors do their work.”

Fred rolled his eyes and bopped a few kids affectionately on the head. “I’ll see you guys again soon.”

They waved and said their goodbyes, and Fred wondered if it truly would be the last time. For a moment, he wished the fire would leap higher and time would turn back so he could have a few more hours with them.

_No. You’re going to see George. It’s time to move on._

He climbed through the portrait hole, saluting to the Fat Lady as she swung shut. She sipped her wine and gave a drunken, girlish giggle.

Fred soundlessly meandered through the halls, his brain flipping to autopilot as he wandered the familiar corridors and staircases. He turned a corner and walked by the wall where he died, nodding at it in passing. He wondered just when he’d know if he was moving on. Into the light, as it goes.

He sighed and found himself standing before the Great Hall. He swept his gaze briefly over the jewels that signified the running for House Cup. He groaned when he noticed the green emeralds piled much higher than the other three houses.

“Slytherin’s in the lead, huh.”

Fred spun around, eyes wide with shock.

Before him stood himself.

A mirror? Or….

“George.”

“Hi, Fred.”

“But… you’re not old.”

“Neither are you.”

He hesitantly stepped toward his brother. He was translucent. A ghost, like him.

“When did you….”

“Just a few minutes ago, it seems. That pneumonia made easy work of me. Chewed me up and spit me back out here. Old farts can’t do much of anything, can they, Freddie?”

Fred smiled, and before he knew it, he was grinning from ear to ear, and so was George. He felt tears sliding down his face and he wondered vaguely how he was crying if he was a ghost.

As he cried, George slowly became more solid and the castle behind him began to fall away to reveal a piercing whiteness within.

They were moving on. Without wasting a further second, Fred closed the distance between them with a crushing embrace. His senses were blurred yet heightened; he could touch, smell, feel again. The twins clutched each other, sobbing into each other’s shoulders like their lives and deaths depended on it.

The whiteness was replaced by something else and Fred couldn’t tell what it was but it smelled like home it smelled like George it smelled like Molly’s cooking. And the warmth. Inside and out. He could feel the warmth.

He pulled away from George. They were still smiling.

Gripping each other’s shoulders, they both took a shuddering breath.

“You okay, Freddie?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”


End file.
